


Pasalacqua, 1904

by rougesang



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 20:58:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2555444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rougesang/pseuds/rougesang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The back-story of our favorite misunderstood under-butler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Closing the door, Thomas turned to let the confines of his room wash over him with the sense of security that one often longs for at the end of a journey.

Pushing himself to ignore the minute yet nagging part of his brain bent on reminding him nightly that this “safety” was just an illusion, as he had no more claim to this room than he did to the whole of Downton, Thomas silently fell into his routine of removing and putting away his uniform.

Despite being planted firmly on the top floor of the Abbey – and having been so for over ten years now– each piece of his uniform removed, impeccably hung, and neatly tucked away into his wardrobe took Thomas further away from the dinners, the greeting of guests, from Yorkshire in general.

Now successfully attired in only his sleeping clothes, Thomas felt fully disconnected from the world that existed outside his room. Taking up his favorite post next to the open window, he slowly lit up a cigarette and let his mind wander.

It was these times of night when he felt most at ease. Anyone who really got to know Thomas would find out, eventually, that he was a dreamer. The precious time that existing between work and sleep was his alone to relive the grandest of his life’s adventures and to imagine all the possibilities still hiding out there for him.

Some nights, the dreaming was wild: he could move south and start over completely as a whole new man, or maybe he might run away to France and fall madly in love with an artist.

On other occasions, his mental distance from his working life would allow him to think more objectively about the other players in his house. He’d turn over what he knew of his fellow servants and of the people living upstairs and wonder how he might use it to get ahead, or at the very least, create a little excitement in an otherwise dull existence.

Tonight, his mind kept conjuring forward snapshots of Jimmy - in particular, ones of bare shoulders and of smiling yet skeptical eyes. Each image brought with it a whirlwind of emotions and memories he had no wish to revisit after his long day.

Thomas took a deep drag on his cigarette, shaking his head in an effort to clear his mind as he let the smoke escape slowly into the cool night air. He’d so far managed to keep this particular adventure locked away in the recesses of his mind where it could do no harm, but it seemed now, with Downton’s newest arrival, that there was little chance of these memories permitting themselves to be ignored any longer.

He’d met Jimmy before. Not the exact same Jimmy as he caught half-dressed off the servants’ hall, but then again, he probably hadn’t been the same Thomas at the time either.


	2. Chapter 2

Sixteen-year-old Thomas shifted anxiously from one foot to the other, clutching his knapsack tightly to his chest to keep his collection of tiny spoons from rattling. The line he was in seemed infinitely long, and after nearly a week on the boat, he was increasingly restless to set foot on dry land. At the same time, however, his stomach churned as fear set in over being now on his own to navigate this new city. I want to go home, the small child inside him cried silently.

As he shuffled forward with the line, he gingerly touched the fading bruise around his left eye and his fear was immediately replaced by a more alien emotion: bitterness. Fueled by his anger, Thomas resolved to himself that he would not miss home. Instead, he concentrated on steadying his face and stepped confidently towards his new life in New York.

*****

Being both healthy and a native English speaker had allowed Thomas to quickly navigate the various officials he met, and it wasn’t long before he found himself standing on the dusty streets in the late-morning sun. 

I could get used to this. He squinted as he raised his face to feel the heat of the daylight. Sunny days weren’t unheard of in Manchester, but they were rare; and even when it wasn’t cloudy, it had never felt like this. The sunshine felt somehow closer and more pure.

Ready to execute the next step of his plan, Thomas took a long, deep breathe, as if trying to breathe in some of the sun rays, and began to look around for somewhere to unload the silver spoons and pocket watch he’d nicked from his parents. He’d spent nearly all the money he’d had between his brief stint in Birmingham and food on the boat, and he was anxious to be free of the valuables and have some coin in his pocket again. 

It took some time before he could find the right type of shop. He was quickly finding that in his short time out on his own, he’d ceased to exist to most members of society; those that did pay him any mind did so with clear suspicious in their eyes.

He hadn’t even tried some of the fancier shops up closer to the park. He instead continued to make his way down through Manhattan, slowing only to consider the storefronts once they’d become slightly more worn. He needed a place willing to pay a fair rate, but inclined enough as to not question the story he’d been practicing since he’d left England.

After several more blocks, he found a small pawnbroker shop, claiming to specialize in loans, watches, and diamonds. Perfect. Putting on his most innocently neutral expression, he stepped inside and up to the counter.

As he set his knapsack on the glass display and began to fish out the spoons, the shop keeper unsurprisingly gave him an immediately skeptical look; his expression softened slightly, however, when Thomas launched quickly into his well rehearsed speech. 

“My father asked me to bring in his spoon collection and his spare pocket watch,” Thomas started, laying each spoon gently on the counter before him. “My eldest sister is to be married, and he feels its best to sell now to help cover the wedding.”

The shop keeper nodded thoughtfully as he began to look at the spoons. Thomas sighed inwardly with relief that his lie had resonated with the man and fought his own nervous urge to keep talking to fill the silence. Keep it short and simple, he reminded himself. 

“These sterling silver?” the shop keeper asked, as he began to count up the spoons.

“Yes.”

“‘English, I take it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mmhmm.” The man nodded to himself as he finished counting and then recounted the silver. “Why’ve you only got 19 spoons? Seem’s an odd amount for a set.”

Shite. Thomas had bartered his way onto this trans-Atlantic trip by offering up one of the spoons. Although he’d had a sneaking suspicion the spoon was worth considerably more than the ticket, he’d been in too much of a hurry to put up much of a fight on that point.

“Nineteen is correct,” he answered, realizing he needed to give some sort of a response while he formulated his next lie. He gave a smile that was much calmer than he actually felt as he willed his brain to work quickly. 

“Father wanted to keep one, for sentimental reasons.”

The man gave him a sideways look as he continued to examine the spoons and then the pocket watch. 

After several more long moments of silence, the shop keeper finally spoke again.

“Alright. I can give you $3.23 for each of the spoons and $1.48 for the watch.”

Thomas nodded sharply, realizing only then that he’d been holding his breath. As he exhaled slowly, he fought to control his breathing against the giddiness he felt rising in this throat. I can’t believe that worked.

As he reached across the counter to collect his money, his minds’ eye flashed an image of the man in Birmingham hovering over him, dropping a one pound note at his feet with a sneer. He quickly shook his head to throw off the memory, pocketed the notes and coins, and ran back out into the street before the shop keeper could raise any further questions.

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've been mulling in my head for quite some time. Particularly as this is my first story, all comments are particularly appreciated!
> 
> The title comes from the Green Day song "Going to Pasalacqua" off their first album. If you don't know, it's definitely worth checking out.


End file.
